A Thing Called Love
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: A DeweyMiss Mullins story. Clean, fluffy, cute, and fun. Adults are very neglected in SOR fic! Read and review!
1. Reconsider Me: Part One

Author's note: Hi! This fic will be composed of four chapters. This story happens just a bit after the movie ended.

I'm very happy, unless something changes in the next few days, this section will be the first adult-focused School of Rock fic! (Not adult in a raunchy way, just not about the kids, haha!) The parts after this, however, will be about the band members!

Theme song and title of this section changed. **Don't** ask why!

Disclaimer: I don't own the movie, any of its characters, any of its actors, or any music that is mentioned by the film or myself.

**Reconsider Me: Part One**

_When you're all alone  
And you need someone  
Telephone and I'll come runnin'  
Reconsider me  
And I'll never make you sad again  
'Cause I swear that I've changed since then  
And I'll never make you sorry if you try  
Let's let bygones be forgotten  
Reconsider me  
Reconsider me_

_I promise that I'll never make you cry  
I'll never make you sad again_

"You can't always get what you want… you can't always get what you want… you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find… YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED!" Dewey sang, the backup singers joining in enthusiastically on the last phrase. The song went on, the music building at choruses and holding back during verses, all the instruments playing in turn as the melody grew more elaborate, little drum rolls and guitar licks adding themselves to the simple tune.

"Awwwww-WHOO!" Dewey howled, letting loose with the rock-scream he'd been looking forward to throughout the whole song, the backup singers crooning an almost angelic tune in the background as though providing contrast. Alicia and Marta continued the high part, but Tomika joined Dewey in the repeated choruses. By the end of the song, Lawrence was grinning, Freddy was bouncing on his seat as he drummed, Katie was bobbing her head like the famous skull on Dewey's dashboard, and Zack was engaging in the elaborate guitar solo poses that he'd grown so fond of since he joined the band and got over his former shyness.

"That was great! Stellar! I think we shook the whole building! Man, Blondie and Braceface, I did NOT know that you-all could sound so much like choirboys!" Dewey cheered.

"Choirboys?" The two small backup singers turned insulted faces toward him.

"That's a good thing! Haven't you ever heard the original…" Dewey sputtered, trying to explain the Rolling Stones composition to the offended preteens. "It's got these really girly-voiced boys on it, and—"

"What? My ears are burning!" Billy called from the corner where he sat with his sketchbook and fabric samples.

"Not you, Fancypants! You sound like Rambo compared to these kids… I keep forgetting that I need to give y'all more HOMEWORK!" Dewey seethed, slinging his guitar over his shoulder and rifling through his duffel bag in search of the Stones' famous _Let It Bleed _disc. _A-ha! Come to papa! _he thought triumphantly as his fingers closed around the box.

"Hi, Ned! I mean, um, Dewey." The pudgy guitarist jumped and spun around at the sound of an adult voice, an unusual phenomenon in this room of prepubescents. He found himself face-to-face with Principal Mullins.

"Heeeey, Roz! What's shakin'?" Dewey crowed, unfazed as usual.

The willowy headmistress delicately shifted her thin spectacles higher on the bridge of her nose. "Ah, I just wanted to find out when you guys had your next show, I mean, your gig at the Battle of the Bands was… incredible!" she babbled, falling back on her favorite complimentary word.

_Wow! She said gig! For her, that's really a big step. _Dewey chortled to himself. "Yeah, yeah, thanks! You oughtta ask Summer about our schedule, she's the one who handles the planning and all that crap," he said, waving his hand and trying to accept the compliment with at least the appearance of gracious modesty.

"Hmm? Do you need something, Dewey?" Summer chirped, stepping smartly over Billy's rolls of fabric to ingratiate herself into the adult conversation and gain extracurricular brownie points. "Hi, Miss Mullins!"

"Oh, hello, Summer. Yes, I just wanted to know when the next show will be?" Principal Mullins repeated.

"Sure, come with me, I've got the schedule right over here. See, the horizontal part of the grid is the date and…" Summer's voice faded out of Dewey's hearing as she led Principal Mullins toward the official-looking desk that the small manager had so efficiently organized. The rest of the band had dissolved into chatter or impromptu jams, and Dewey decided to give them a break for a few minutes. He wasn't some rock dictator, after all.

Dewey began strumming his guitar meditatively, an action that always seemed to make his frenzied thoughts flow more easily. He had been surprised to see Miss Mullins here, even though he had handled it with his usual aplomb. Truthfully, he was even _more _surprised by the fact that she really didn't seem to hate him. She _had_ kind of opened up to him that day in the van, after all, only to find out that he was a freeloading identity thief… well, no need to dwell on that whole can of worms. But she'd hugged him after the Battle of the Bands (and, well, kind of yelled at him, but forget that part), and here she was, wanting to see some more gigs!

Despite his usually somewhat callused conscience, Dewey had been a little worried that he might have wreaked havoc on the tightly wound principal's precarious psyche. While his declaration that she was "cool" might have been stretching the truth a little, his initial evaluation of her as "the man" wasn't correct, either. She was a lot nicer than she had first appeared to be, and her Stevie Nicks fanaticism _was_ kind of cute. _She just needs someone to loosen her up a little… help her get her groooove back, _he thought with his trademark sarcastic drawl. That phrase, unfortunately, conjured up the image of Principal Mullins cavorting with some buff 20-year-old in the style of the movie that had inspired that particular figure of speech, and he burst out laughing at the thought.

Everyone in the room, including the object of his weird idea, turned and looked at him like he'd lost it. "Ah-ha…ahem. Hum, huh!" He cannily turned his guffaws into fake coughing. "Got something in my throat, sorry. Time to start practicing again!"

_Good save, man, he thought proudly. Rock gods always knew just what to say._

A few hours later, the rock god found himself in deep trouble.

"NED! It's NOT MY FRIGGIN' FAULT if the building flooded! Come on, man!" Dewey bellowed.

"Ned! He _said _he'd be out of here by today, he's scamming you again, the next thing you know he'll be staying here for good and not paying rent _even though he's got the money…_" Patty babbled in one furious run-on sentence, finally ending her tirade with, "He's said he'd get his lazy butt out of here!"

"Oh believe me, princess, you're the last person I want my butt near!" Dewey shot back in one of his mangled insults.

"Patty, it's not like he had any control over what happened…" Ned said with characteristic gentleness.

"But I don't believe him! How do you know he's not making excuses again?" she shrieked, causing her mild-mannered beau to reel back visibly.

"You think I _want _to stay here? Huh? Huh, huh, missy? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKIN'?" Dewey cried, punctuating each "huh" with a poke on Patty's sweater-clad shoulder and finishing by throwing his arms dramatically in the air and racing over to scoop up his bags and instrument cases. "I'm findin' somewhere else to stay, so I hope you and Miss Yoko Ono will be very happy here, Ned! Don't worry your little balding head about me!"

"BALDING?" Ned cried in agony, grabbing at his short-cropped red hair as though he expected it to be gone.

"YOKO ONO? So typical!" Patty shrilled.

Dewey's answer was a masterpiece in nonverbal communicaton—he slammed the door as hard as he could as he left, silently lamenting the downfall of his bass-playing buddy.

"I don't need them! I can _so _find somewhere to crash for a while…" he muttered to himself.

A long pause.

"Yeah, that's bull!" he spouted. "What am I gonna do?"

As he stalked down the sidewalk, he heard a loud rumble. _Am I that hungry? _he marveled.

Another loud roll. _Ah, it's thunder, _he thought smugly. _Wait, THUNDER? _He tilted his head back to study the grayish sky, then wrinkled his nose as tiny drops of rain began to fall. _Oh, this is just perfect!_

Rosalie Mullins stood in her kitchen, cheerfully humming "Go Your Own Way" as she sautéed mushrooms in a large skillet. "Hmm-hmm-hmm… you can go your own waaaaay… only one school day leeeeeft!" she sang, beaming over the sizzling veggies. Despite what the kids at her school may think, she looked forward to weekends as much as they did. Heck, probably more!

She had been wearing one of her usual prim pencil skirts that day, but as soon as she got home, she changed into her oldest pair of jeans (ornamented with sundry holes) and one of her least favorite Stevie Nicks concert T-shirts. She was going to clean her apartment that weekend, and she wanted to get a head start by working that evening.

She clicked off the burner with the mushrooms and dumped them into the pot of soup that was steaming on the other side of the stove. As lame as it was to put lots of effort into cooking for just herself, she had to admit that she was a little proud of her culinary prowess. _It's nice to see that I can do _something _well, _she thought ruefully. As excellent as her cooking skills were, her housekeeping had become nonexistent lately, thanks to her inordinate workload, which was yet another lovely source of inadequacy complexes.

Her impromptu performance of "The Chain" was interrupted by a loud pounding, then an insistent and very annoying buzzing, both from the direction of her door. "Ugh, who could this be?" she muttered, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and hoping that her soup wouldn't boil over if this unexpected visitor stayed long. Ha, yeah right, like people were beating down the door to hang out with her!

"Coming, just a minute!" she yelled as she hurried toward the door. The person outside it seemed to be leaning on the buzzer. She swung the door open to reveal Dewey Finn, soaking wet and weighed down with baggage.

"Took you long enough!" he howled, then realized his audacious tone and softened his manner a little. "Can I please come in?"

"Ahhh… sure!" Rosalie stepped back and let him pass through the door, silently lamenting the water and mud that his entrance slung across her carpet. "What happened to you?"

Dewey was panting from exhaustion, and he dumped the bags down, rubbing more dirt into the rug. "I—well, I was gonna move into my own place today, 'cause you know I've got some cash now, but there was a stupid flash flood and the building leaked and now I have to wait a week and Ned's hag kicked me out, and all the people who _used _to be my friends threw me out of the band so now I hate them and can't stay with them, and so I'm completely desperate and all wet and really hungry and… wow, you look so hot in those _jeans_! Dang, girl!"

Rosalie blinked. "Ah, thank you!" Between deciphering his flow of information and trying to figure out of the compliment was sincere or not (it most likely likely was _not, _she decided), she felt extremely overwhelmed.

"What are you cooking? It smells _bellisima_," Dewey gushed, stepping into the kitchen and sticking his nose over the steam rising from the pot of soup that had fortunately refrained from boiling over.

"It's just soup, it's got vegetables and minestrone…" She sighed. "You want some?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, I'm starving." He leaned against the refrigerator and closed his eyes dramatically. "I hate Patty. I hate her sooo much."

"She did seem just a little abrasive." Rosalie remembered the bossy brunette from Parents' Night, though it was Dewey who had occupied most of her thoughts that evening. She still remembered the sick feeling in her stomach when the police showed up and she found out that this seemingly great guy had been lying to her, not to mention completely jeopardizing her career.

_Hmmph, he doesn't deserve this soup! she thought as she finished ladling his portion into a bowl and shoved it at him less than graciously._

deserve she thought as she finished ladling his portion into a bowl and shoved it at him less than graciously.

"Thanks so much," he said with seemingly genuine gratitude. "Wow, this is great!"

She granted him a tense smile. "Thanks."

"So do you think I can stay here? Just a little while? Please?"

"Stay here?" She was definitely getting a headache now.

"Yeah, I'm so desperate, I'll pay you rent or something, I'll clean, I'll cook… well, maybe you should cook, but I'll do anything you want, Roz, I swear!"

"You'll clean? You'll help me clean? Because that's what I was planning to do this weekend, you know?"

"Sure! Great! Just please let me stay!" He was looking almost manic.

"All right, all right, you can stay." _Why does he have to be so cute? _she thought remorsefully.

Not Lindsey Buckingham cute, or even normal guy cute, just cute like a big, mouthy, rock-obsessed teddy bear. With a bow tie.

"Thank yoooou, you won't be sorry, I promise!" He set the soup bowl down with a clatter and gave her an enthusiastic hug.

"Ah… ah… you're welcome!" She awkwardly patted his shoulder, and he pulled back and grinned at her.

"So where do I sleep?"

A/N: Look forward to Part 2 soon! Please review! "Reconsider Me" is written by Warren Zevon and performed by Stevie Nicks. (I only put a portion of the lyrics, not all of them fit in as well). "You Can't Always Get What You Want" is written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and performed by the Rolling Stones, London Bach Choir, and Doris Troy. "Go Your Own Way" is written by Lindsey Buckingham (Stevie Nicks' ex-boyfriend!) and performed by Fleetwood Mac. "The Chain" is written and performed by Fleetwood Mac. I do not own (nor do I WANT to own, or even see!) the movie _How Stella Got Her Groove Back. _


	2. Reconsider Me: Part Two

Author's Note: Thank you so much to reviewers!

Jewelkitten: Thanks! The next part will be about the kids, but I wanted to give the adults some attention, too! And I think they are a way cute couple!

TheCheezHead: Haha, yes, she does kind of tower over him (but I think some of that is because she wears teacher-like pumps, LOL). :)

Lil Emi B: Thank you!

saxistwriterchick: Well, I watched the commentary with Richard Linklater and Jack Black, and during the van scene, Dewey and Principal Mullins were supposed to kiss! (Shocking! Haha.) But the whole "romantic" part of their relationship was taken out of the movie, so I think that "Growing On Me" was in the movie at some part that had to do with that, but it got cut out when they edited out the romance. Read the words, they kind of match this pairing well! Just my weird thought!

**Reconsider Me: Part Two**

_Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel,_

_My hearts in overdrive, and you're behind the steering wheel!_

_I believe in a thing called love!_

_Just listen to the rhythm of my heart._

_There's a chance we could make it now…_

Dewey slept, in fact, on the foldout sofa in Rosalie's living room, but he didn't make it to that haven of rest until after he had put in his time as a cleaning slave, as he'd promised.

First she made him scrub the carpet that his elemental entrance had soiled, then she asked him to carry some boxes down to the Dumpster. By this time he was grumbling and his arms were a bit sore, but the next task she asked him to help with was much more to his liking.

"Hey Dewey? What do you think of this skirt?" She stepped out of the bedroom, wearing a short black skirt with her Stevie T-shirt over it. "Is it too short?"

"Umm… no! Not at all. I like it, why don't you wear that kind of thing more often?" Dewey swallowed, blinked his eyes, smoothed his floppy hair. He _must _be coming down with something from his little journey in the rain, because he was feeling weird.

"It seemed a little… unprofessional, you know?"

"Aw, well, I…" He cleared his throat again. "I completely disagree. It looks… good!" His voice squeaked on the last word. _What's wrong with me? _he thought desperately. First he had found himself strangely fascinated by her ripped jeans (a rock wardrobe staple), and now he couldn't take his eyes off her long, slim, surprisingly decent-looking legs. _This is craziness! _It was like when you were in school and involuntarily checked out a teacher, and not even the young, hot teacher that everyone liked, just a normal, middle-aged, kind of frumpy teacher! It made you want to go confess to a priest (even if you _were_ Jewish)!

"Hmm… I wish I could see the back…" Rosalie was muttering, standing on her tiptoes and craning to look over her shoulder, turning in a slow circle and somewhat resembling a dog trying to chase its own tail. As though demonstrating the depths to which he had sunk in this insanity, Dewey couldn't help but find the pose almost cute. She walked back into the bedroom with a look of abstraction on her face, and Dewey put a hand to his forehead to make sure he wasn't getting a fever, though he actually would have liked to have something to blame for his discomfort. He shook his head, cracked his knuckles, and stretched his arms as though trying to shake out all the nervous tension that had just hit him like a freight train.

"Dewey?" Rosalie's head popped out of the bedroom door. "Can you come in here?" _Ack! Am I so transparent? _he thought in terror. He took a deep breath. He was being completely paranoid; she probably just wanted him to carry more boxes or something. _Stay cool, man! _

He walked hesitantly into the room, which was painted blue and (naturally) decorated with Stevie Nicks posters, as well as oversized black-and-white photographs of flowers. The most striking feature of the room, however, was the piles of clothes strewn over the bed and floor. "Whoo, check out the train wreck in here! Cripes!" he exclaimed, then snapped his mouth shut, realizing that such a comment might not be appreciated by the ultra-organized Roz.

"Yeah, I know, really! I'm cleaning out my closet, and see this pile?" She pointed a manicured finger. "This is stuff that I'm not sure about keeping. Look at it, what do you think?"

He looked down at the tangle of garments. He was no women's fashion expert, but he didn't want to sound stupid or unwilling to help (on the contrary, he was getting so "willing" that it was almost ridiculous).

Then, as usual, Dewey figured out a way to milk the situation.

"I really can't say just looking at them like this. Why don't you… try them on?" He tried to hide his anticipatory grin. Rosalie didn't notice his twisted glee. "That makes sense. Great idea!" She smiled at him, and he practically had to muffle a longing sigh.

_She's got such big, gorgeous lips… _he thought, loathing himself for noticing. He realized that if he was going to try to stifle these bizarre impulses, he really shouldn't have asked for an impromptu fashion show. But hey, no going back now. He might as well take it like a man! He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her his most innocent smile.

Later that night, Dewey rolled over on the sofa-bed, wincing at the loud creaks that the slightest motion on his part caused. Grateful as he was for someplace to stay, this bed achieved only a very sub-par comfort level. Hoping to calm his frazzled nerves, he walked over to the stereo to play some soothing tunes… like Iron Maiden or something.

Just as he was about to hit the "Play" button, he realized that Rosalie (and the entire building, most likely) was asleep. He grunted irritably and looked around for some other form of entertainment. TV, maybe… but no, Roz only had basic cable, so he couldn't watch the only channel he enjoyed (VH1 Classic, naturally). He fell back on his usual form of entertainment—playing guitar, though he had to settle for keeping it unplugged. He strummed, then attempted some riffs and picking, then busted into a solo, which usually would have made him feel great. Without distortion or amplification, however, he just felt sort of deprived. Repressed. Emasculated, even! This was depressing.

_I'll just plug it in but keep it really quiet. No distortion! _he thought, glancing guiltily over both shoulders before plugging the chord into the amp. He strummed a chord. This was better! A few minutes later, he added a slight touch of distortion. _Just to round out the sound, I'll keep it on the down-low! _

Rosalie's eyes slid open, squinting into the darkness. What was that sound? Music? From where? Her neighbors were never this loud…

She closed her eyes and pushed her face into the pillow, deciding to try to sleep regardless of the racket. She was pretty tired, after all. The attempt proved unsuccessful, and just as she was preparing to leap out of bed and go pound on the offending neighbor's door, she realized that the noise was very close to her room. Practically right outside the door, even.

_A burglar! A kidnapper! _she thought frantically. _A murderer! _Then she sheepishly realized that no half-decent lawbreaker would be serenading his victim before attack. And _then _she realized who the disturber of the peace was.

Just as he seared out a blistering riff, Dewey was startled by the door just a few feet away from him flying open. Rosalie stood in the doorway, in full principal rage mode, her glasses sliding down on her nose and her short, usually smooth hair in a mussed fashion.

"_What are you doing?" _she snapped, her face a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Dewey looked around and realized that he hadn't kept his resolution to keep the distortion and volume low. As he'd played, he'd thoughtlessly turned the knobs up to best effect, completely forgetting where he was. Rock had a transporting effect, after all.

"I… couldn't sleep?" he said lamely. Rosalie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Why did I ever say you could stay here? I mean really, you're completely insane, so WHY?" Exhaustion lent boldness to her speech, and she stared at him accusingly.

"Ahhh… because I'm so cute?" he babbled, then winced as he realized that joking around was not the best option for this situation.

"Go to bed, Dewey," she sighed, rubbing her forehead with her hand and slowly turning to go back into the bedroom.

"Rooooz!" he moaned. "Aw, Roz… Rosalie… Miss Mullins, whatever, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be loud, I was gonna be like totally silent, I just got kind of carried away. Please don't be mad?" He reached out and grabbed her arm, and she turned almost unwillingly to face him. He really didn't want to get himself kicked out… or make her hate him!

"I'm not mad, just _please _be quiet. I need sleep so much, and I don't want my neighbors to kill me…" She was visibly disintegrating into stress personified, and Dewey felt massively guilty for causing the transformation.

"Aw, it's OK, calm down, girl!" He put both his hands on her shoulders and tried to give her an encouraging smile, and he felt her relax a little. "You can still get sleep, and if I make any more noise, I grant you the right to personally come out here and beat me down, OK?"

She smiled a little, melting as easily as she always seemed to when he turned on the old charm. "Sorry I called you insane…"

"It's fine, insane is a total understatement! All the best rock stars are completely _unhinged."_ He nodded and wiggled his eyebrows. She smiled again, and before Dewey knew what he was doing, his hands that had remained on her shoulders slid down and clasped her fingers.

The two stood like that for a moment, face to face but silent, and then she pulled her hands away, muttered "Good night", and hastily stepped through the door and closed it.

Dewey collapsed onto the couch, confused and strangely alert. There went _his_ chance of sleeping well that night!

When Rosalie woke up, Dewey was conked out on the sofa-bed, stretched out diagonally with a foot off one end and an arm hanging off the other. She envied the fact that his after-school program didn't start until the afternoon, allowing him to sleep in as late as he wanted, while she hauled her tired self out of bed at 6:30. She got ready quietly, stepping over the guitars and suitcases that seemed to have taken over the apartment. That was Dewey—coming in, making a mess, complicating things, and just when you wanted to hate him… being sweet. He was surely the most frustrating guy she'd ever met.

She gave the leg of his foldout bed a vindictive kick as she passed by, then immediately felt guilty. Dewey barely seemed to notice; he just rolled over and muttered something about Ace Frehley.

When she finally got home from school that evening, Dewey popped out of the living room as soon as she opened the door. "Hey, Roz! Gig tonight! Wanna come?" "What?"

"We've got a show tonight! Wanna come?"

"Uh… sure! Can I eat first though?"

"There's food at the place, come on, gotta go!" He grabbed her hand to hurry her out the door, then had a sudden flashback to the uncomfortable night before and quickly let go. He examined Rosalie's face to see if she'd noticed anything, but she just set down her bag of paperwork and followed him out the door with a slightly annoyed sigh.

"Can't I even change clothes? I mean, where is this thing?"

"Some restaurant, bar, club, kind of deal…" Dewey muttered vaguely.

"Dewey!"

He looked up in surprise.

"I can't wear this to a bar!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's boring!"

Dewey's face took on a puzzled frown and he tilted his head. She was wearing… well, exactly what she was always wearing. Except for last night, of course, when she'd worn… wait, he was trying to forget about all the weirdness of the night before. "Ah… it is?" he finally said.

"Yes! I'm aware of the fact that I dress like a prude, but even I can manage something better than this for a bar!" She whirled around and ran back into the apartment.

"But… it's a restaurant too! Roz, we're gonna be late…" Dewey whined.

"Just a minute!" she yelled. She was in the bedroom by this time, rifling through the newly organized rack in her closet.

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Dewey called, a devilish grin taking possession of his face as he raced into the apartment after her. He barged into the bedroom, and she jumped.

"Dewey! I could have been changing!"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry," he said. _That you weren't! _he added in his head.

"What is it?"

"Let me pick what you should wear!"

"What?"

"Yeah! I saw all your clothes last night, let me help!"

"Ah, I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Sure it is! Here you can wear this"—he snatched up the short skirt that had awed him the night before—"and this shirt over here!" He grabbed a gauzy shirt that had a distinct Stevie Nicks vibe, and was therefore sure to help his case a little.

"That?" Rosalie looked a little sick.

"Yeah! It's _hot!_"

"I don't know if I wanna be hot, Dewey." She straightened her hair and pushed up her glasses, crossing her arms across her chest in defensive fashion.

_Too late! _he thought. "Sure you do!" he said. "It will look great, come on, put them on!" He shoved the garments into her hands. "Oh, and THESE shoes!" He produced a pair of stilettos.

"No! No way!" She looked at the shoes in apparent horror.

"Yes! Come on! Please?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Why do you care?"

_Crap! Pull back, pull back! _he thought anxiously. "I care becaaaaaause… well, I don't care! Never mind! Wear what you want!" He fled.

_Dewey's being so weird lately! _Rosalie thought, staring after the pudgy musician with a look of completely bemusement. She looked down at the clothes she was holding. They were things that she'd bought but never worn, visible representations of the big gap between what she was and what she _wished _she was, between the boring, mean principal and the normal, cool (maybe hot?) woman. In short, they were depressing her.

She shoved the clothes into the closet haphazardly, then pulled them back out as she realized that she really shouldn't start messing up the closet again already. She picked up the clothes again and took a deep breath.

Dewey was pacing back and forth in the living room, hoping he hadn't given away too much of what he'd been thinking. What the heck _was _he thinking? How could he like Miss Mullins? She was a spawn of THE MAN, practically the polar opposite of everything that appealed to him, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. He actually liked how she was always flustered, how she tried to hard to keep herself in line but surprised him every now and then, exposing some vestige of coolness or humor that she tried so hard to hide. But would she ever like him? And even if she did, how could they ever get along? He was kind of out of practice in the dating area, anyway.

_Man, is she _ever _gonna come out of there? _he thought, chasing away the serious thoughts with more immediate ones.

"Roz? Are you almost ready?" he called, cautiously tapping on the door.

"Here I am!" The door flew open so fast that he jumped. The sight that emerged floored him.

Rosalie was wearing the outfit he'd suggested, plus some kind of sparkly eye stuff and a weird but oddly flattering gloss on the admired lips. Her ever-present small spectacles were gone. She almost strutted as she stepped through the doorway. She looked like a completely different person, and her behavior just reinforced that impression.

She tilted her head and gave him a charming smile. "I'm ready, let's go!" She breezed through the room with this air of confidence that he'd never seen her display before. What had happened? He began imagining scenarios of pod people and body snatchers.

"Dewey? Are you coming?"

"Uh… yeah! Let's go! Let's… rock!" Dewey cried, trying to capture his usual musical fervor so that she wouldn't suspect how profoundly this change had affected him.

"Yeah, let's rock," she replied, bobbing her head in an almost cocky manner.

Dewey had to smother a laugh at her newly acquired "cool" vocabulary. She certainly did offer a lot of surprises lately!

A/N: DANG, THIS CHAPTER IS LONG! What do y'all think? The next chapter will be very fabulous, I promise! And after two more chapters of this, I will move on to my first kid story! Please review!

"I Believe in a Thing Called Love" is written and performed by the Darkness.


	3. Reconsider Me: Part Three

Author's note: Hi! Sorry it's been so long!

Disclaimer: Same as before! If I use any songs, I'll list them at the end like normal! I guess I should start this with a song quote as usual…

**Reconsider Me: Part Three**

_All these years I've been wandering around_

_wondering how come nobody told me_

_All that I was looking for was somebody_

_who looked like you!_

The ride to the restaurant/bar/whatever was an interesting one. Dewey had several near accidents because he couldn't keep his eyes off of his newly transformed passenger. She seemed to be having a hard time getting used to her changes as well; she spent a good portion of the ride checking her makeup in the mirror and fluffing her hair, which was already more fluffed and piecy than usual.

Dewey began to think that his principal companion really _had_ been replaced by a pod person. This Roz was uninhibited, cheerfully humming along to the car radio and smiling out the window. Instead of sitting as she usually did, hunched over and with arms crossed defensively across her chest, she was leaning casually back, her legs crossed and her elbow rested on the ledge of the open van window. Once Dewey caught her waving flirtatiously at a passing driver, who was leering right back.

"Roz!" he exclaimed.

"What?" she asked, her head whipping around and a faint semblance of her former perpetually flustered expression crossing her face. Dewey gave her an open-mouthed and slightly accusatory stare in return, and she giggled and shrugged in an uncharacteristically flighty manner.

"He was cute, huh?" She scrunched her nose up with delight and turned to see if her Romeo in a Toyota was still in sight.

"What kind of monster have I created?" he mumbled as he changed lanes in a not-so-stealthy attempt to put some space between Miss Mullins and her consort. His selected phrase reminded him of the Metallica song "Some Kind of Monster", and he hummed it and felt a little better.

_Rock is so soothing…_

When they reached the site of the gig, Dewey hustled out of his seat in an attempt to be all debonair by opening Roz's door for her, but she was so overtaken by excitement that she hopped out and slammed the door heartily before he was halfway around the car.

She began striding toward the building, and Dewey had to break into a jog to catch up with the lengthy steps of the long legs he so appreciated. As they approached the double glass doors of the establishment, they swung open and a barrage of preadolescent band members poured out. The kids exited the building in a flurry of chatter and pre-show nerves, but when they saw their made-over principal, they fell silent one by one, each distinctive face gaining eerily similar expressions of shock.

As usual, Freddy had the first comment. "Miss MULLINS?" he gawked.

"Hi Freddy," she replied innocently. Dewey glanced at her and saw that she was practically smirking.

"You look… great!" Summer blurted out, displaying the fact that her old teacher's pet habits had not yet died completely.

"Oh really? Thanks!" Miss Mullins tossed her hair.

Dewey felt the need to restore a healthy level of chaos to the group. "What are you all standing here for? IT'S TIME TO ROCK!"

The kids looked stunned for a moment, then gave half-hearted replies. "Yeah! Whoo… rock…" the group feebly intoned.

"That's pathetic! Come on, isn't it time for sound check?"Dewey cried. He began to dash through the door, but then remembered his former resolution to act suave. He paused and turned back to offer his arm to Miss Mullins

"M'lady?"he said with a fake British accent and an exaggerated bow. _Wow, a Monty Python impression. There's a great way to bag a babe,_ Dewey reproached himself

But Miss Mullins just giggled and linked her arm through his, and the kids followed the couple through the door like a herd of lobotomized sheep.

It might have been nervous energy, or maybe the urge to impress, but for whatever reason, Dewey was sure that the show that night was one of his greatest. He played like Kirk Hammett, sang like Robert Plant, and bounced around with enough energy to fuel an entire mosh pit. Every few chord changes, he looked around for Miss Mullins, who, after a long debate over whether it was cooler to be backstage or front row, had settled on standing in the wings of the stage, swaying with barely suppressed energy and clapping tothe music. As they neared the end of the set, he practically had a crick in his neck from turning his head toward her vantage point.

The trouble began during the next to last song. When he glanced over at the spot where Roz had been standing, he saw that she had been replaced by his arch-nemesis and band replacement—the pansy guitar goon, Spider!

Dewey was so startled by this horrible shock that he missed a power chord completely, causing his guitar to let out a nasty squawk and a low-pitched thrum as his pick slid past the bass string. Zack gave him a confused look, but he was too perturbed to even acknowledge it.

Dewey's annoyance worsened as he realized that Roz hadn't vanished; instead, she was standing right next to Spider, apparently chatting happily and ignoring the onstage music that had fascinated her a moment ago.

_Grr, she actually has to look up when she talks to him, Dewey thought jealously. Spider was leaning against the edge of the stage door, smiling casually down at Miss Mullins, who was gazing up almost adoringly._

Dewey stumbled through the rest of the set, trying to ignore the disturbing scenario unfolding. After a rockin' encore, he left the stage with the rest of the band, deliberately bumping Roz's shoulder as he passed. She barely noticed, just tossing a casual "Great show!" in his direction.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Dewey nursed a beer and glowered throughout No Vacancy's set, interrupting his grumpy haze only when absolutely necessary (like when he prevented Freddy from buying a beer and told Frankie to stop playing keep-away with Billy's fabric samples). Miss Mullins stayed backstage until well after No Vacancy's set was over. When she emerged and rejoined the group, she had a positively dreamy look on her face.

_Ugh, she looks like she's in puppy love or something. She's, like, forty! Dewey thought evilly._

"Um, Dewey, are we gonna be going home soon?" she asked abstractedly.

He was distracted from his irritation by the rather girlfriendly sound of her question, but then he remembered his reason for annoyance and frowned. "What, did your man Spider leave?"

"Yeah…" she replied, still looking like she was on cloud nine and barely listening, let alone responding to his mocking phrase.

Dewey drove the remaining band members home in stormy silence, while Roz hummed along to the radio and twirled the same strand of hair around her finger for the entire ride, staring into space and smiling as though thinking about a much younger, hotter, and more guitar-goddish guy than the one she was with.

_My life sucks! Dewey thought, resolving to write an angsty ballad when they got home._

Dewey spent the weekend browsing through guitars he couldn't afford at Guitar World by day, then going to his favorite bar at night. Basically, he spent the time avoiding Roz. When he finally returned to the apartment, she was asleep. Or at least shut up in her room. Hopefully alone! (Every time he came into the apartment, he imagined that he heard guitar playing that was not his own.)

When Miss Mullins woke up on Monday, she was sure that the room was spinning around. She opened her eyes drowsily and saw that the room was stationary, but her head seemed to be spinning anyway. She tried to sit up, but was stricken by immediate dizziness and a pain in her stomach.

"Ugh," she moaned. "There goes my perfect attendance record." Now the question was… how would she even reach the phone?

She spend a few minutes vainly trying to stretch her arm over to the phone on the dresser, then remembered that for once, she was not alone in her apartment.

"Dewey?" she croaked weakly. No response. "Dewey?" Still nothing. "DEWEY!"

"What, what, what?" an equally drowsy voice called from the other room. A few moments later, the man himself appeared, clad in boxers and a blanket draped around his shoulders.

"Could you call the office at Horace Green and tell them that I won't be in today?"

"Whatsa matter, got a hangover?"

"What?" Miss Mullins tried to remember the night before. "No! Gosh, no, I didn't drink anything last night…I don't think. There's been this stomach bug going around."

"Fine, yeah, whatever," Dewey grumbled as he stumbled out of the room.

"Thank you!" Miss Mullins called, trying to sound grateful, even though it came out as tired and puzzled.

A few minutes later, Dewey's scruffy head reappeared. "Do you want some water or something?"

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks."

A few minutes after the water appeared, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol was shoved through the door. "Do you want some of this pink crap?"

"Sure."

A few minutes later, soda crackers and coffee followed. By this time, Rosalie was sure that she was hallucinating. Dewey was being thoughtful? Dewey was being considerate? She must be sicker than she thought… maybe even delirious! She asked the apparition of Dewey for a thermometer, which confirmed that she did indeed have a temperature. She laid weakly back on the pillow, deciding that if this was a dream, it was a good one.

_I'm going crazy. I'm losing it. I've gone soft!_ Dewey thought grumpily as he carried a wet washcloth down the apartment's short hall to Miss Mullins' room.

When he woke up, he had been pissed off that he was awake. Then he was doubly pissed off when he remembered how Roz had been all over his guitar rival. But when he saw the pathetic state of his principal roommate, he couldn't help but feel a little pity for her. Then he had remembered how he had basically jeopardized her career. Then he had remembered that she was letting him stay in her house. _Then _he remembered how cute she had looked in her miniskirt. And before he knew it, he had gone all Florence Nightingale. Pretty soon he would be giving her a backrub or something! (But wait, that might not be so bad…)

It was kind of nice to see how grateful she was.

It was kind of nice just to see her.

A/N: sarcastically Gee, do you think this is long enough? Hahaha! Please review. The next chapter (which will be the last Dewey/Roz chapter) should be coming soon! At least I hope so! It will be better than this one, I promise!

The song quote is from "I've Got a Feeling", which is performed by the Beatles and written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.


	4. Reconsider Me: Part Four

Author's note: Here you go! Last chapter! I hope you like it! I will try to make it fluff-o-rama, yet good! Please review!

Disclaimer: Same old, same old! The lyrics at the beginning of this chapter are by Smash Mouth and the song later in it is by Stevie Nicks.

**Reconsider Me: Part Four**

_When you had to go_

_I hated the thought_

_I only wish the night was twice as long_

_My heart cries out—more, baby!_

_I love you so much_

_I wish that there was more of you to touch_

_I can't get enough of you baby!_

By late afternoon, Rosalie thought she felt sturdy enough to walk into the kitchen and forage for a bagel. Dewey was at band practice, and the apartment felt strangely empty as she walked through. She ran out of steam in the living room, so she sat down on the couch, then realized that the couch was no longer a couch at all, but had transformed into Dewey's bed. She sighed and laid back. For a hide-a-bed, it wasn't bad.

An hour later, Dewey walked into the apartment with his usual bluster, then stopped short as he strode into the living room and saw Roz curled up on the end of his bed. She was wearing a rather worn pink bathrobe, her hair had gone from "piecy" to just plain rumpled, and her glasses were sliding off the end of her nose, but he couldn't help but smile as she rolled over and let out a sleepy sigh.

He was distracted by a loud growl from his stomach, and he obeyed its call and went into the kitchen. When he returned, accompanied by a handful of chips, Roz was stirring.

"Hey there, Sleepy Jean," he said, then almost killed himself as he realized that he had just quoted the Monkees.

"Oh, hi, Dewey," Rosalie yawned, sitting up straight, then jumping as she looked around and realized where she was. "Wow, I'm sorry, I'm on your bed, I—"

"Hey, no problem." Feeling brave, he sat down next to her. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I… wait, what time is it?"

Dewey consulted the clock on the wall. "Um, almost seven."

"Ooh! I've gotta watch The Bachelor!" she cried, her illness momentarily forgotten in the reality TV frenzy.

"O…kay. I'll watch too!" Dewey said, not wanting to leave his cozy spot.

To his surprise, he became rather absorbed in the show. "Now which one is that again?"

"That's Kelly. She's evil, and last week she made out with Jim in the hot tub!"

"What about her?"

"That's Hilary. She's a Las Vegas casino worker, and she says that she's already sure that she loves Jim, but I think she's just trying to get an edge on everyone else!"

By the end of the hour, Dewey felt intimately acquainted with the cast of the show and genuinely concerned that the rakish millionaire would choose the wrong girl. Rather than giving up his spot, he suggested clicking around the channels to see if anything good was on. Rosalie settled on a showing of a movie version of the play The Importance of Being Earnest. Once he saw the period costumes and heard the snooty accents, Dewey was sure that he was in for a snooze-fest, but as the movie continued, he started getting interested. The plot was about two friends who both pretended to be a fictional guy named Earnest and used the alter ego to woo two separate girls.

The story actually reminded Dewey of his own situation—he had pretended to be Ned Schneebly and had sort of wooed Roz, right? He became more and more anxious as the girls in the movie freaked out when the true identities of their men were discovered.

"Um, what do you think? Would you forgive them?" Dewey asked in what he hoped was a casual tone, sadly watching as the movie girls snubbed the deceivers.

"Me? Oh, definitely!" Rosalie exclaimed. Dewey perked up until he heard her next words. "I mean, really, Rupert Everett and Colin Firth are so handsome, how could I NOT?"

"Oh." Dewey slumped over and turned his attention back to the screen.

Dewey sighed with relief when the movie ended happily. Just as he began to turn toward Roz, he felt her head fall against his shoulder. His heart leapt. Had the movie made her realize that he deserved her forgiveness and/or love? He tilted his chin down to study her expression and realized… that she was asleep. He sighed, then decided to make the most of this opportunity. He reached up to stroke her hair and let his fingers slide down her smooth face. Taking advantage of the fact that her head was below his for once, he rested his chin on top of her head and sighed contentedly. If only she was doing this on purpose…

He was startled out of this blissful and agonizing state by the sound of the doorbell. He jumped, but neither his sudden movement nor the sound woke Roz, so he gently laid her back on the couch and went to the door himself.

Whoever was waiting rang the doorbell again. "I'm comin, I'm comin', hold your horses, punk!" Dewey bellowed. He swung the door open to reveal a pseudo-rock, self-absorbed fashion victim—no, not any of his underage band members. It was Spider!

"Hey, bro, how's it hangin'?" Spider asked in a clearly rhetorical and rather ghetto fashion. "Where's Rosalie?"

"Um, on the couch," Dewey answered, too stunned to come up with a good one-liner.

"Is she ready?"

"Ready… for… what?" Dewey asked, trying to think of some good reason that this jerk would be on Roz's porch, but finding none.

"Ready for a mind-blowing evening!" Spider said with a head tilt and a seductive smirk.

"Huh?"

"We had a date tonight, man! What's the deal?"

For one horrific and baffled moment, Dewey thought that he had somehow become very drunk and made a date with Spider. Then, in an even worse moment, he realized that Roz, possibly sober, really had!

"Well, uh, she's sick. She's actually sort of passed out on the couch. I guess she forgot all about it. Um, actually, I just remembered, she told me earlier that she thinks you're a total pansy and didn't want to go out with you at all. She's probably faking the whole 'sick' thing so she can let you down easy," Dewey babbled, gathering steam as he went on.

"What?" The startled cry didn't come from Spider—it came from behind him. He wheeled around and saw Roz standing in the kitchen with an expression of mixed shock and anger.

"Dewey, what is wrong with you? I didn't say any of that! I really am sick, as evidenced by my lethargic behavior and unnatural congestion, and I am so offended that you would try to… to… sabotage me like that! What's going on?"

"Rosalie! Babe!" Spider

"Hi," she said weakly. Then she turned back to Dewey. "Explain yourself, now!"

Dewey had never been chewed out with such an excellent vocabulary before. "I… I… I'm sorry! I don't know what I was thinking."

"I don't either! I mean, why would you do that?" She clearly refused to let the topic go.

"It's not important," Dewey replied lamely.

"Yes it is! Yes-it-is, and I want to know!"

"BECAUSE I LIKE YOU! I DON'T WANT YOU DATING THIS LOSER BECAUSE I LIKE YOU AND I'M TOTALLY JEALOUS!" Dewey shouted.

"Whoa…" Spider exclaimed in Keanu Reeves fashion.

"You… like me?" she repeated blankly.

"YES! I think you're adorable and I love staying with you and I, I, love your miniskirts and I even like Stevie Nicks because you do!"

Rosalie stood frozen like a deer in the headlights, then turned and fled from the kitchen, slamming her bedroom door and locking it with an audible click.

"Hey! What about our date?" Spider cried. "Dude, such bad karma here!" he said sadly. He turned as though shaking the dust of the apartment off of his feet and slumped away, letting the door fall closed behind him.

Dewey stood in the aftermath of the two slammed doors, feeling like a total idiot. He took a deep breath and decided to try to salvage the situation a little. He walked over to Roz's door and knocked humbly.

"Roz? Can I come in?"

No answer.

"Come on, please?"

Still nothing.

"It's not like I committed murder! I just like you, is that a crime?" Dewey got into the rant mode that he usually reserved for discussing "The Man." "Show some mercy! Have pity on me, baby!" He burst into song. "Ple-e-e-ease, ba-beh!"

"ALL RIGHT!" The door flew open.

"Roz, I'm sorry I lied to that freak. But can't you give me a chance?"

"Dewey, I have given you chances to prove that you're not a total bum, but you never take them! You lied about being a substitute, you liked about actually _wanting_ to hang out with me for fun that time you took me to the bar, and now you're using me for a place to stay! Why should I believe anything you say?"

"Look, I know I'm a loser, but right now I'm an honest loser! I'm mooching off you, but that doesn't mean I don't like you! I mean, I'm going crazy, you're all I think about, and—"

"Enough." She put her hand up in his face. "I don't want to hear any of this. I'm not prepared for this, I didn't expect it and I can think of a million reasons this wouldn't work out, I mean, for Pete's sake, you sleep until noon and being in a band isn't a very stable professon, and—"

"Roz!" It was his turn to interrupt. "Stop trying to act like you care about all that! I know you now. You're a rock chick at heart, I just know it, and you feel this too." He grabbed her hands. She didn't pull them back, and he took a step closer. She stood still, and, gathering up all his courage, he leaned forward and kissed her. For one precious moment she leaned closer to him, squeezing his hands and returning the kiss with an ardor that sent shivers down his spine, but then she pulled back, shaking her head.

"No, I don't want to do this."

"That's not what it felt like a minute ago!"

"I don't! I want you out of here."

"What?"

"I want you to leave. By tomorrow. If not sooner." She had reverted back to strict principal mode, and she retreated to her room again, locking the door and leaving a shell-shocked Dewey behind.

Rosalie spent the next week in an unhappy daze, her emotions swinging from sad to angry to thoughtful in a moment's notice, but always settling back down to lonely when she entered her silent apartment. She had been furious when she heard Dewey lying to Spider and ruining her chance of going on what seemed like a fun date and a well-deserved break from her sensible image. As time went by, though, she found herself thinking less and less about that disappointment and realizing that when she threw Dewey out, she may have thrown out an even better chance to try out a new part of herself. After all, her so-called "wild" side only came out around him, at least lately.

She remembered coming home to his joyous chaos, the way he had helped her pick clothes and taken care of her when she was sick and even watched _The Bachelor _with her. She was already letting him stay in her house. Why would he need to _act _like he liked her? It wasn't like when he was trying to convince her to let him take the kids places. She was really beginning to regret her reaction to his confession.

Now she sat at her desk, buried under mounds of paperwork, but instead of working, she was resting her head on her arms, recalling Dewey's dramatic pleas and thinking of what she would say if she had the chance to change things. She was torn between reassuring herself that she had made the wise decision to turn him down (after all, everything she had said was true!) and admitting to herself that she missed him and that she was happier with him around. All 200-plus pounds of him, lazy, loud, and zealous as he was. But what could she do about it now? She didn't even have the number of his new apartment, and would he even forgive her? What if he hated her now? What if he was conning her again?

She had just spiraled off into another turmoil of indecision when her secretary ran into the office. "Miss Mullins! There's a… disturbance on the front lawn!"

She quickly sat up. "What?"

"The man who was here pretending to be a teacher and all of those kids in his band are on the front lawn! With… instruments and amplifiers and all these things that are probably against the fire code or the noise pollution laws… please, come out here!"

Roz's heart started pounding. "O…kay, sure! I'll take care of it right away!" she said, trying to sound composed. She rushed down the hall and out onto the front steps of the school, where pretty much all the students and faculty had gathered.

"ROZ!" Dewey's amplified voice cried. He was holding his guitar and standing in front of a mic stand, and as the secretary had said, the rest of School of Rock was assembled behind him. As though her name were a signal, the band began playing. After a few bars of music, Dewey began to sing, of all things, a Stevie Nicks tune.

_Baby how much closer could we be  
I swear you've become a part of me  
You are with me everywhere I go I  
f you feel it, I already know  
Everything I say to you is true  
I don't want to tell you what to do _

_But if I were you I would take the love I'm giving to you  
Oh if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

_If I were you I would trust in me like I trusted in you  
Oh, if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

Dewey was singing his heart out, his eyes never leaving Rosalie, who was torn between being delighted, amused, and mortified.

_I know what you're dreaming when you sleep  
You have secrets I will always keep  
And in every morning when we arise  
I see my reflection in your eyes _

_Every boy must learn to be a man  
Maybe you can help me, yes you can! _

Rosalie laughed at his alteration of the original lyrics, but he remained straight-faced and intense.

_But if I were you I would take the love I'm giving to you  
Oh if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

_If I were you I would trust in me like I trusted in you  
Oh, if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

_Well, I believe that love is a living thing  
Born into our destinies  
From a single moment of inspiration  
And as it grows it changes your life forever! _

_But if I were you I would take the love I'm giving to you  
Oh if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

_If I were you I would trust in me like I trusted in you  
Oh, if I were you  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _

The captive audience burst into applause as the song ended, and the band members grinned. Well, all except for Dewey, who was staring at Rosalie with a burning gaze. The rest of the band played a reprise of the song, but Dewey didn't sing or play.

"Roz! What do you say?" he yelled into the microphone. Every eye focused on the dismayed principal, who just stared back.

"I'm asking you again! What do you say? Will you give me a chance?" The music intensified.

"YES!"

It took Rosalie a minute to realize that it was her own voice.

"WHOO!" That was definitely Dewey, who dropped his guitar unceremoniously onto the ground and leapt up the stairs, pressing through the crowd of astonished kids and teachers until he reached Rosalie.

"Do you mean it?" he asked excitedly. The rest of the crowd seemed to hold their breath in anticipation of her answer, so she quickly grabbed Dewey's hand and pulled him through the school doors and out of sight.

"Yes!" she whispered as soon as they escaped the crowd.

"What?"

"Yes!" she repeated.

"Huh?"

"YES!" She threw her arms around him.

"I heard you the first time, I just wanted to make you say it some more," he gloated.

She gasped in annoyance, but before she could say anything, he pulled her closer and kissed her. This time she didn't pull away.

In fact, they barely noticed when the school doors opened and the students began making their way back to class. They didn't hear the teacher's scandalized whispers or the kids' alarmed cries at seeing "old people" kissing, and Dewey didn't even hear Freddy and Zack's exclamations of "Way to go, man!" as they passed by.

Rosalie knew she would have a lot to explain to some angry parents, but for once, she didn't care. She was a wild rock chick, after all, and not afraid of anything

Or at least that's how she felt when Dewey was around her.

For once, she was sure—all the risks were worth it!


End file.
